


Shaky hands

by sshysmm



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Book 4: Pawn in Frankincense, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Prompt Fill, Whumptober 2019, the band Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2021-01-26 20:57:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: Something is wrong with Francis: he takes it out on his guitar.--Written for Whumptober 2019, set in the Band AU I've been writing (see collections).--There's 31 of these ficlets and I apologise profusely for burying other work in the tags. I will *always* tag these as 'the band au' and you can usethis nifty extension (ao3rdr)to block the tag if this isn't your thing and isn't what you want to see in the Lymond tags!
Kudos: 4
Collections: Ficlets in the Lymond Band AU for Whumptober 2019





	Shaky hands

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally published on tumblr, October 1 2019.](https://notasapleasure.tumblr.com/post/188062400530/it-is-no-easy-task-to-reduce-an-electric-guitar)

It is no easy task, to reduce an electric guitar to smashed teeth of plastic and frayed wood, strings waving like a cat o' nine tails. The stage and the desert beyond howled with its wounded cries as Lymond swung the instrument again and again and again against any surface that stood in his way.

His bare torso ran with sweat, darkening the waistband of his jeans; his face was flushed and his expression was fixed in a grim mania that Jerott Blyth barely recognised.

Still the crowd cheered.

All he could do was strum chords to support the sounds of ruin, exchanging glances with Archie. The drummer provided an underlay of thunder from his kit, raised up at the back of the stage. Over to the side, Marthe watched Lymond's performance with studied detachment, swaying with her bass, her fingers hitting the thick strings with lazy precision.

Only Philippa did not continue to play along. She stood by her mic, violin in one white-knuckled hand and bow in the other, her jaw set in a thoughtful grimace and her shoulders a little hunched in discomfort as she watched.

The plastic edge of the guitar rebounded from the stage floor with force that they all saw vibrate back through Lymond's body. His teeth were bared and his eyes looked animal, but he fought to bring the instrument down in another blow.

Still the crowd cheered.

Slam, the guitar's body hit the stage and the amps thumped with sound; crack, he swung it by its neck into the towering bank of amplifiers and the strings clanged and shrieked. He heaved it doggedly into the air and down, absorbed totally by his vendetta. When the body broke from the neck he tore the two halves apart and flung the former into the wailing audience. With savage determination, he took the wooden stake that remained and plunged it into a stage light, sending glass bursting into the air, releasing a smell of chemical burning.

Jerott saw blankness flutter on his face in the flare as the light died: he looked momentarily haggard, and he remained on his knees before the broken unit, gasping, his hands trembling as he raised them to cover his face and wipe sweat back into his hairline.

It was time to put an end to this. Jerott nodded at Marthe and strode across the stage to where Lymond knelt, fading out his playing as he went, letting the rhythm section power onwards. He unslung his guitar and reached down to pull Francis to his feet with a bruising grip on his bicep. Feeling his way down that wiry arm, Jerott took his hand and raised it aloft. They stood shoulder to shoulder for a moment, Francis's shaking hand clamped in Jerott's, a fist above their heads as their fans howled for more.

"Is it destroyed?" Francis murmured, his blue eyes unfocussed, wavering above the shadow of the audience.

Jerott did not turn his face. "My God. Do you think it could be anything otherwise?"

On Francis's other side, Philippa shuffled close and took the free hand that he had tried to keep hidden behind his back. Behind them, Marthe spoke into her mic to thank the festival crowd; to remind them of the names of those who had entertained them. Then the bass line also wound down and she laid her instrument aside to come and stand by Jerott, as Archie finished his solo with a flourish and stood to hurl his drumsticks over their heads and into the crowd.


End file.
